THE RUNAWAY
"And as the chariot rolled along the plain,
Light from the ground he leaped, and seized the rein;
Thus hung in air, he still retain'd his hold,
The coursers frighted, and their course controlled."
--_Dryden's Virgil._
"Ande, my lad, if--"
His remarks were very unceremoniously cut short by a shout from the lad.
"Look out, Mr. Trant! A runaway!" and before he had finished speaking,
he caught the old parson by the shoulders and gave him a shove to one
side of the road. Now the action of the youth was so quick and with such
vigour, that the parson had no alternative but to go in a very
undignified manner. His shovel-shaped hat went into the hedge, and with
coat-tails flying like the pennants of a man-of-war, the parson was
following, but tripped on some obstacle and plunged very quickly and
involuntarily into a bunch of stinging nettles and thistles by the
road-side.
Nor was the action too quick, for down the road, galloping and plunging
as if mad, her eyes flashing and nostrils distended with terror, came
the squire's black mare, Queeny. A brief glance had sufficed for the
youth's quick eyes. The bit had broken in the mare's mouth. The
chaise in the rear rocked from side to side in a most frightful manner,
but the plucky driver, Mistress Alice, with resolute will, though pale
with fear, still held the lines, seeking in vain to restrain the
maddened creature. There was a quick thud, thud, thud; the creaking of
wrenched axle; a rolling cloud of dust; and through it all in the rear a
strained face, beautiful, yet fear-stricken, with wide, dark eyes and a
tumbling mass of curly hair as black as the clouds of a moonless night.
[Illustration: "There was a vision of a flying, athletic, youthful
form--clinging with the grip of a vice--"]
Then there was a leap and a vision of a flying, athletic, youthful form,
and Ande was clinging with the grip of a vise to the black, flowing
mane. With his right arm up over the animal's neck, supporting himself,
with the other hand he grasped the mare by the nostrils, completely
shutting off all air. Then there was a struggle for the mastery. The
infuriated creature reared, plunged, until there was imminent danger of
the shafts breaking, but the lad was too strong to be thus shaken off.
There was a cry, almost a shriek, like unto a scream of human agony,
from Queeny. On, on, on plunged the creature with its human burden, but
there was a slowness of speed until some hundred yards from the parson's
position, when the runaway was brought to a standstill, although
trembling in every limb with fright.
The squire's daughter, only too anxious to alight after that mad ride,
stepped from the chaise, and between her petting and speaking to Queeny
and Ande's grip, that he still maintained, the mare was pacified.
"Now," said the lad, speaking for the first time, "please unbuckle those
backing straps and unhook the traces."
The girl, though unaccustomed to be ordered in this manner, saw the
necessity of complying, since her rescuer did not dare to leave his
position at the mare's head.
"Now, let me have the halter in the chaise."
The girl produced it, and the animal thus secured was led out of the
half-ruined shafts.
Parson Trant, in the meantime, had disengaged himself from the unwelcome
embrace of the nettles and thistles. Picking up his shovel-shaped hat
and dusting it with his handkerchief, he placed it on his head after
first arranging his scattered locks, and then hurried forward to assist
the squire's daughter. That young lady had, however, finished the work
before his arrival.
"Well, well, well!" exclaimed the parson, as he came up, puffing with
over-exertion and mopping the perspiration from his brow. "That was a
narrow escape, Mistress Alice--thank God for it--also--this brave young
man. Mistress Alice, this is Master Ande Trembath."
The parson in the midst of his hurry had neither forgotten his religion
nor his courtesy that seemed inherent in his very nature, but he little
realised the ludicrous figure he presented in that scene. His
neckerchief was all awry; one coat-tail was sadly torn by the violence
of his fall and was now hanging in a most melancholy manner by a few
threads from his coat; his broadcloth trowsers were soiled and covered
with nettle stickers and thistle down; and his hat, in the hurry of
putting it on, was located on one side of his head in a most rakish and
disreputable manner.
A silvery peal of laughter from the girl, which was joined by a hastily
suppressed chuckle from Ande, caused the rector to notice his condition
and he was much chagrined in consequence. There was a flush on his
countenance that made both of the young parties regret their hasty
merriment.
"Parson Trant, you must pardon my rudeness in pushing you aside, but if
I hadn't done it we both might have been hurt."
"To be sure, to be sure--don't mention it, my brave lad. You did a noble
action and probably saved my life as well as that of Mistress Alice,"
said the parson kindly, as he patted the lad on the back.
"And as for me, dear Parson Trant, I must beg pardon for my rudeness in
laughing," said the girl with regret in her tone, and then turning to
Ande she thanked him for his brave conduct. "And now you must both come
up to the Manor for lunch, will you not? O do, please; father will be so
delighted."
Parson Trant cast a rueful glance at his clothes, saying he was hardly
presentable, and then his face relaxed into a smile that widened into a
good-humoured laugh as he pictured himself seated at the squire's table
in his present condition. As for the lad, the invitation would have been
acceptable, had he not thought of the squire's antipathy toward himself.
He declined also, but accompanied the squire's daughter to the Manor
gates, having first bid the kind-hearted parson adieu.
"I can't tell why it was that Queeny ran away. She never acted that way
before. I was so frightened. It was very brave of you to stop her."
The lad was a trifle confused under these glowing tributes to his
heroism and could make but little reply.
"Trembath--Trembath," continued the girl musingly, "why that's the name
of the former owner of the Manor--that is, before my grandfather. They
said he was killed in America, and you----"
"He was my grandfather," said the youth with a sensitive flush on his
face. "He was an honourable man."
The flush on the face of the youth was reflected on the countenance of
the girl, for she realised that she had committed an indiscretion in
referring to the death of his grandfather.
There was an embarrassed silence for a time and then the girl exclaimed,
"There's Ned Pengilly!"
It was indeed the worthy lodge-keeper who appeared at the gates. To him
Ande consigned the animal that he was still leading and, receiving the
thanks again of the girl, he turned and wended his way toward home.
Within a short distance he paused and turned, watching the retreating
forms of the girl and the lodge-keeper leading Queeny. Then, with a
feeling he knew not what, he once more continued his journey.